


it's strange, so afraid that i might be in love

by bleuboxes



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Slow Burn, mostly becuase i just re-read the books and jace herondale deserves the world, so i decided to write some??, the lack of jace/clary au content made me sad, with appearances church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 16:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/pseuds/bleuboxes
Summary: Guys like Jace usually don’t go out with girls like her.He’s… well he’s cool.  He’s the guy you read about in shitty YA novels –he’s the guy with the angelic good looks, the guy who’s kind of assholey but a secret softie. He’s the guy every girl is in love with, and he’s the guy that goes riding off into a dystopian sunset with a badass beautiful girl on his armClary is probably not that girl.Clary knows she’s not that girl.





	it's strange, so afraid that i might be in love

**Author's Note:**

> hi dudes, it's been a little bit?????  
> anyway i finished re-reading the mortal instruments series and wanted to write something for jace and clary bc i love them , but this also happened to overlap with me seeing infinity war so pardon all the marvel refs in this.  
> im grieving, and this is how i chose to deal with it.
> 
> title is from the song eggshells by wild child
> 
> anyway, pls pardon any errors, im exhausted and have a million other things to do.

Clary isn’t one to get hung up on boys. She’s usually more content aesthetically admiring people from a distance, maybe keeping them in mind so she can draw them later.

Not that she’s never been attracted to anyone before, it’s just she’s got more on her mind than finding a beau. Not that she needs one, she’s got her best friend-slash-roommate, Simon, and that cat that keeps stopping by their apartment.

He’s very hostile, but Clary and Simon just can’t seem to be rid of the damned feline.

However, that’s beyond the point.

Clary's hung up on a boy she literally looked at once, and well, she isn’t really sure how to go about dealing with it. She debates telling Simon about her predicament, but then remembers the last time she told Simon anything related to interests of the heart (he got very invested, and it was just Not a Good Time).

Instead, she does her best to draw the boy, and confesses her woes to the cat (who looks both bored and intrigued at the same time. It’s very strange.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A few weeks pass. Simon’s seeing a girl – Isabelle Lightwood – and Clary’s almost forgotten about that stupid boy.

Isabelle comes over to the flat quite often. Clary usually stays to herself when she’s over, but it always makes her smile to hear Simon and Isabelle talk about nerd stuff, or yell about Mario Kart, or just, anything. Isabelle does everything with an aura of grace and sophistication (even eating spray cheese, which is something Clary never thought possible).

She’s beautiful and confident and Clary’s just thrilled that she makes Simon so happy.

Isabelle evidently is extremely fond of Simon, but she’s also got an unwavering love of her older brother Alec (who Clary’s met once, by accident; he’s dating a family friend of hers), and her step-brother Jace Herondale, whom Clary has yet to meet.

Judging from phone call conversations that she’s overheard and texts that Isabelle’s read aloud, Clary’s sure this Jace person is an asshole with at least seven sticks up his ass. His texts read cocky and narcissistic, and his humor (while funny most of the time) is dark and self-depreciating. ALthough, if Isa belle gets along with him, he mustn't be that bad.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The deal is this: Simon and Isabelle spend most weekends out of the apartment; leaving Clary to herself to do whatever (aka draw, read, loudly sing songs that Simon would roast her for singing, call her mom and Luke to complain about what stupid shit Simon did this week, etc.)

The deal is also this: The cat that keeps showing up at her place likes to visit her while she’s home alone. Mostly, they just stare at each other aggressively from across the room for at least ten minutes before Clary sighs and retells her week to the animal.

Please keep in mind that usually Clary’s got on an old tee-shirt, no bra, and a really ratty pair of leggings. Her hair’s usually piled into a very messy low bun – basically she’s the opposite of elegance, which is why she’s a little panicked when she hears the knock at the door.

She shares a quick look with the cat, who looks impassive at her predicament, and hurries to the door.

It’s probably just old Mrs. Brannigan again asking if she can borrow some flour.

Except it’s not.

She opens the door, and there, smiling like a _goddamn motherfucking asshole_ stands the stupidly beautiful boy she’s just about forgotten.

Her mouth is agape while she looks at him quickly. He’s even prettier up close – short, choppy blond hair falls in front of his eyes, which are flecked with gold. He’s angular, more so than she thought, and _good god_ she really didn’t think people could be this attractive in real life (and she’s met Isabelle Lightwood).

She’s suddenly acutely aware of her current appearance and looks down; the cat is walking around her feet like it owns them.

Asshole.

“How may I help you?” she asks; it comes off a little more aggressive than she wanted it to be, but she’s never had an experience talking to someone this fucking beautiful before, so she’s giving herself a pass.

“I think you’ve kidnapped my cat.”

“I resent that implication,” she responds, mentally kicking herself; she doesn’t speak like she’s from 1880.

This is why she stays in on the weekends.

He adjusts the way he’s standing in her doorway, now leaning almost effortlessly against the door frame. The way he looks should be illegal – especially now that he’s got a smirk on his perfect little fucking face –

“Oh?” he scoffs, “So you expect me to believe that Church just got up and walked here on his own then?”

“Yeah, exactly. Your cat’s a fuckin' menace.”

“Seems about right, actually.”

They’re both silent for a moment, then a thought hits her.

“You just missed an excellent opportunity to use ‘cat burglar’; I’m a little disappointed.”

“Goddammit!” he laughs. (Clary’s never heard such a beautiful noise). Clary smiles because she’s a mess and doesn’t know how else to react.

And that’s when Simon and Isabelle come marauding down the hallway. It’s really obscene, and well, Clary never really ever wanted to see Simon in a position like that. She’s being really inconspicuous by looking over the beautiful guy’s shoulder (also his arms? So fucking muscular? What the hell?), and he turns his head.

He seems to be watching the pair with amusement.

“You two are gross,” She says loudly. Simon and Isabelle stop molesting each other in the hall way, throw Clary the bird, and start walking towards the doorway, “Can’t you see we have a visitor.”

 

“Oh,” says Isabelle nonchalantly, “That’s just Jace. Did I not tell you he was gonna stop by for the cat tonight?”

“Does it _fucking_ look like it?” Clary glares at her friend while motioning to herself. Isabelle at least has the decency to look a tiny bit apologetic.

“Must have been something on my mind.” Isabelle admits, then smiles, then looks at Simon.

“I think I just vomited,” Clary sighs.

“Yeah, me too.” Says Jace, who’s suddenly standing beside her. Clary wills herself not to get flustered. He’s a good half-a-foot taller than her, muscular and drop-dead gorgeous and she’s looking a bit like Little Orphan Annie.

Goddamn Isabelle.

She’s so caught up in her thoughts about her inadequate appearance that she misses the invitation to enter the flat and comes back to the present when Simon’s got his hand wrapped around her wrist dragging her out of the doorway, a smirking Jace behind her and a bubbly Isabella leading the brigade to the living room.

“Clary,” begins Simon, surveying the room, “This is like, the third time this week you’ve watched this movie.”

Clary rips her wrist free from Simon and plops down on her previously inhabited couch, “You know watching ‘Cap two’ helps me cope.”

“Just because you think Bucky’s metal arm is hot doesn’t mean watching this move over and over and over is a healthy coping mechanism,” He fires back; Simon and Isabelle sit on the couch next to her, and Jace takes a seat on the gross looking recliner than came with the place adjacent to the couch. He’s monitoring the conversation closely with his cat. She swears she can see the ghost of a smirk on his face, but she tries her best to convince herself she’s imagining the whole thing.

“Simon,” Isabelle says gently, “You think _Venom_ is hot – so you’re the least qualified to partake in this argument.”

“See – Isabelle thinks my kink is valid.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Look, we all wanna fuck Cap, that’s a fact of life, Iz, just face it – you’re _basic.”_

“Simon doesn’t wanna –“

“Yeah, he’d rather fuck Venom, which makes him the kinkiest of all of us, unless Jace over there wants to smash the Hulk or Rocket or something fucking weird like that.”

“I’m rather partial to Bucky Barnes, to be honest,” His eyes twinkle when they meet Clary’s, “and I think Clary’s right about you, dear sister – _ya basic.”_

Isabelle has a few choice words, but Clary tells her to shut up because _‘it’s the best part’_ and she needs complete silence to witness this movie in all it’s glory if she’s ever going to get over the stupidly beautiful boy that just interrupted her life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

So, Clary doesn’t have a chance to forget about Jace because his stupid cat keeps coming back to her flat, she’s added to a group chat with him, Alec, Isabelle, Magnus, and Simon, he keeps sending her terrible (adorable) memes, and whenever he comes over (which is a little too often and usually when Simon and Isabelle are out) he brings take-out and they hand out on the couch.

Clary’s pleasantly surprised when she gets to know him. While he’s still snarky and has the potential to be a massive asshole, he’s fiercely loyal, ridiculously genuine, and a little bit of a nerd.

More often than not they’ll find conversation drifting towards favorite books, movies, and bands. She’s intrigued to find out how big a fan of Charles Dickens he is, how he was a closeted emo back in the day (and still occasionally listens to My Chemical Romance), and how similar their taste in men is.

He’s funny, and inadvertently kind to her, and if it wasn’t enough for her to fall in love with Jace Herondale when he was just another pretty face, it’s more than enough now.

She’s already told his cat she wouldn’t mind marrying him.

She’s just got to figure out if he’d be interested in going out. With her.

On a date.

Not in her apartment.

And she's got to figure out if these apartment weekend hang outs (where they spend their evenings a cramped together on the couch) are just friendly visits.

Because guys like Jace usually don’t go out with girls like her.

He’s… well he’s _cool_.  He’s the guy you read about in shitty YA novels – with the angelic good looks, kind of assholey but a secret softie, every girl he’s ever met is in love with him, and he’ll go riding off into a dystopian sunset with a badass beautiful girl.

Clary is probably not that girl.

Clary _knows_ she’s not that girl.

Clary’s the person who stays home on weekends because she’d rather be drawing or studying. Clary doesn’t do big parties, she calls her mom on the daily, she wears ugly too-big tee shirts and comfy leggings, she likes long sundresses and can quote Marvel movies on the regular (if need be).

And to be frank, she’s fine with it. She doesn’t want to be cool. She’s not going to change who she is for some stupid, handsome boy.

And here’s where she holds onto hope – because he hasn’t asked her to change; he’s been content with who she is from the beginning, stuck around, got to know her, and is still showing up to talk to her.

And, like, _yeah_ – maybe it’s dumb for her to want to change the dynamic between her and Jace, but it’s been four months of her hopelessly pining, and, well, enough is enough.

She tries to talk herself down, because it really isn’t that big a deal – she’s just going to ask a boy, who’s so ridiculously out of her league, if he’d like to go out with her sometime.

It’s terrifying, but Pottermore didn’t sort her into Gryffindor for nothing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As it turns out, Clary’s a _fucking awful_ Gryffindor; it’s been two months since she decided she was going to ask Jace out, and well, to state it plainly, she hasn’t.

It’s not that Clary isn’t daring and brave, it’s that she likes to know what she’s getting into before she does it (so that she can try to predict the best possible outcome.)

The thing is: she really, _really_ likes Jace. She doesn’t want to muck it all up because she’s an idiot who can’t pick up hints. Plus, she really likes being his friend. They do homework together now – he’ll help her study (and vice versa); he’s at her flat all the time – almost more than Isabelle is, actually.

He laughs at her terrible jokes (which really are, just ruddy awful – like bad puns, nerd jokes, like, you name a bad joke, Clary’s told it to Jace), takes her to a showing of   _Infinity War_ on opening weekend (he even lets her use his shoulder as a tissue, what a fucking gentleman), he smiles at her constantly – a radiant, happy grin that makes her melt from head to toe, and he’s keeps glancing at her with a look in his eyes that awakens a sense of _something_ in Clary – she’s just not sure what it is quite yet.

He’s also been acting a little strange, now that she thinks about it – she caught him blushing the other night (and several instances since then) – he’s been bashful and sweet to her, throwing tiny compliments her way almost as if he doesn’t want her to notice them, he’s been scooting closer to her when the watch movies on the couch, his hands are trying to brush up against hers constantly, and it’s like he’s afraid to make eye contact with her anymore (which is a damn shame because he’s got the prettiest pair she’s ever seen) –

And that’s when Clary realizes there’s a reason she isn’t a Ravenclaw.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After that, it’s not so long before she realizes that she’s been so blind from the time they met in the door frame (she tells as much to the cat).

And it’s not that long after that realization that Clary decides she’s gonna be brave for once in her fucking life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s a Friday night; Clary and Jace are basically snuggled up with each other on the couch watching _The Winter Soldier_ yet again.

Clary’s pretty sure Jace is a little suspicious because she only puts this film in when she’s worried about something (which is, again, quite often, but _c’est la vie_ ).

She’s trying her best to be as damn near flirtatious as she can be with out speaking; she’s resting her head on his shoulder, trying to get him to hold her hand, keeps tapping her knee against his, and shifts her position quite frequently.

“Clary, what the hell are you doing?”

“Uh, getting comfortable, jackass.”

“Well cut it out. Your ass is digging into my thigh, and I’m losing circulation.”

“Too bad,” she says, self-satisfied and half on his lap.

“You’re a _menace_ ,” he says adoringly; Clary’s about ready to scream. Instead, she leans back into his chest. It’s a pleasant surprise when his arms shake around her, wrapping her up in a half-assed embrace.

“Like you’re one to talk,” she says, “You’re killin’ me right now, dude.” She can feel his laugh, a great big rumble in his chest; it sounds as wonderful as it feels.

He squeezes her tighter.

“Jace,” she says quietly, she can hear Steve Rogers beating the shit out of the HYDRA guys in the elevator from the TV and feel Jace’s breath on the side of her neck.

This is an extremely compromising position for her to be in, and it’s talking all her will power to not force herself free and kiss the living shit out of him.

“What was that?” he asks, she can feel his body tense up?”

“What?” she asks, confused.

“Because –“ he states, matter-o-factly, “I would not be opposed to it.” He lets her go. She’s still for a moment, and then:

“I said that aloud, didn’t I.”

“Yep.”

“Well, just give me a minute –“

“You got it.”

“Cool.”

She stands up, pink cheeks, and heart racing. She doesn’t do things like this. Things like this don’t happen to people in real life –

“You okay?” he asks, gently.

“I was just... expecting this to be a little more difficult. Like maybe a declaration of love on my part, or a long monologue with a balcony and you swooning –“

Jace stands up and faces her. He reaches for her hands and holds them like something precious.

“Clary, I think I’ve loved you since the moment I met you –“

“That was, like, my _worst_ look ever, Jace.”

“Yeah – so I thought you were beautiful and interesting when you looked like an actual homeless woman so imagine for one second – what it’s like seeing you so often.” He smiles at her, “You’re beautiful and smart and funny – these past few months that I’ve spent getting to know you have been the best of my life, and I mean that, okay? I’m not just saying it – you’re dear to me, Clary, and I’d really like to kiss you.”

“Okay.” She whispers, and he does.

There are no sparks, there is no orchestra in the background, there’s no lightning bolt nor tingling feeling.

Jace’s kiss is familiar and sweet. It’s gentle, and loving, and a little bit snarky, but she doesn’t want it any other wat. He’s comfortable, and she melts into him like he’s the couch and it’s a rainy day.

Clary’s content – really truly at peace – she can’t remember the last time she’s been this happy.

“You know,” she smiles, slowly parting her lips from his own, “I couldn’t get you out of my head for weeks when I first saw you –“

“I do know,” He kisses her briefly, “I’ve seen the sketches.”

“Not my best work,” she mumbles; he’s kissing her again, hands running up her arms.

“You might need a better vantage point of your model.” He suggests.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t get my nose right.”

“I literally saw you from across the campus, cut me some slack.”

“Nah,” he smiles.

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, but now I’m your asshole.”

“I’m absolutely not calling you my asshole.”

“Shame; I’d always been partial to that term of endearment.”

“Jace – just _shut the fuck up_.”

“Whatever you say, Clary.” He smiles, and she smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are the bee's knees!


End file.
